The Forests of Ireland Part 3 of 5
by ladymanhammer
Summary: The story of Bethany Covenant and her siblings. Part three of the five part series based on Clive Barker's Undying


The following story is entirely fictitious. Any similarity to any person living or dead is entirely coincidental and unintentional except where noted in cast and crew credits. All celebrity appearances are impersonated and no celebrity has endorsed any aspect of this writing.  
  
Did you read my other ones?  
  
The following story is entirely fictitious. All characters are property their respective author and game distributor. The Covenant Family is souly property of Clive Barker and EA Games Inc. The plotline of this story and all others pertaining to these characters is property of said famous author and director and gaming distributor.  
  
What follows is the story of Bethany Covenant, a woman driven to power and greed by the curse that befell her family in the early nineteen teens. This story is her account of the events that took place before, during, and post World War One.  
  
The Earth Witch: Bethany's Fate  
  
Trees taller than houses, flowers dead and black,  
Vines run like black and green veins in the big pulsing body of the  
forests,  
Choking all of those who pass.  
Not a breath stirs, not a leave twitches, not an eye moves, not an  
animal sniffs the musky air of the forests.  
  
As tall as the trees, stronger than Satan's breeze,  
Maddening is the presence of the Earth Witch as she lumbers through  
her dead and rotting sanctuary.  
  
Covenant Family Estate 1922  
  
In the east of Ireland, a large estate just south of Dublin encroaches almost an entire five square miles of forest, plane and private cove. Abandoned until almost the end of the eighteen hundreds, the Estate stood like a rotting sentinel against the ages. Ten years of silence, not a breath to stir the fetid air of the countless rooms, closets, basements and attics of this immense house until the Covenant family returned, headed by Grandfather Covenant, the family grew and prospered. But like a cancer, the inhabitants of the house grew insane, eaten away by cancer and dementia. A virtual curse presided over the house, a plague contained the five miles of land that belonged to the family Covenant. The end of the eighteen hundreds found the house in a surprisingly healthy condition. A young man, Joseph Covenant, married his fiancé, Evaline and moved into the house, his own father dying after a few years of their marriage. Soon, perhaps after two years, Evaline was quick with child, the first of five children that were to perpetuate the Covenant family curse. Jeremiah was the first, a bright, happy baby who was innocent of all traces of the curse. He was followed two years later by the twins Aaron and Bethany, born with bright blue eyes and fire red hair. Following them in two years was little Ambrose, a mean little hellion from the start, who terrorized his brothers and sister and had a horrible habit of hitting. Following him in two years was Lizbeth, the sweetest, most beautiful baby ever born, but fortune was to turn, for in her birth was Evaline's death. As the children grew, the curse became evident in them, and a certain incident led them to the Island of the Standing Stones, where they performed a ritual that manifested the curse in them and led them to their respective fates. Lizbeth was the first affected, and she died in the autumn of 1917 of a horrid wasting disease. After Joseph's death, Ambrose disappeared. Jeremiah left for the war in 1918 and Aaron disappeared last year. The eve of October 25, 1922 found Bethany on the road back from Dublin, driving her small trap next to a horse and rider. She glanced at him for a moment, wondering if the trap would sustain much damage if she were to ram him with it. The rider glanced at her and gave her a warm smile. She smiled a little, turned away, and made a sour look of disgust. Count Otto Keisinger, she thought, shaking her head, I had hoped he would teach me the black arts without demanding affection. It makes me sick to think of me married to him. She gave the horse a flick or two and they moved off a little faster. She was anxious to be home. She had a plan to visit the big house and have a private dinner with her last and only sibling, Jeremiah, just to get away from Otto for a while. He had been sick for years, and it had gotten worse ever since he returned from the War. The doctors were treating him the same way they treated poor Lizbeth, and Bethany wondered if that in and of itself was not going to put him in the grave. Yes, tonight she was willing to be sociable. It would be a nice change from Otto's belittling demands and criticisms.  
  
Jeremiah sent word round with Mary Margaret to report the evening's menu to Bethany at the greenhouse, but before Mary Margaret could finish tying on her bonnet Bethany waltzed in from through the garden entrance in the kitchen and threw herself down at the servant's table. She sighed and put her head in her hands. "Mary Margaret, bring me a brandy," she said through parted fingers. "And tell Jeremiah that I am here. I wish to speak with him." Mary Margaret curtsied and went to the cellar door. She peered down into the darkness, gulped and rushed inside. Lately there had been strange things occurring down in the cellar. Word around the manor was that Aaron's ghost was haunting the cellars where he spent so much of his time. The butler once said that he'd gone there to fetch some Spanish wine-Aaron's favorite-and returned with his hair turned stark white from fear. Jeremiah was very angry that the butler had allowed the shadows to scare him and fetched the bottle himself. Mary Margaret wasted no time in fetching the wine and returning to the kitchen, slamming the door behind her. Bethany glanced up sharply at the noise and snatched the bottle from the affronting servant. She took a long pull and set the bottle down. Eliza, one of the most loyal retainers the manor had ever known, strolled in beheld the sight of one of the girls she had helped raise. "Good evenin' Miss Bethany. I'll tell Jeremiah you've arrived." "Thank you Eliza," Bethany sighed and picked up the bottle. "Careful how much you drink, ma'am," Eliza warned, "You'll be tipsy before you try the new wine we got from Italy last week." Bethany smiled and nodded.  
  
Jeremiah was sitting propped up in his bed when Eliza stepped inside. "Jeremiah, sir, Bethany is here to see you before dinner. She's been asking after your health all week." Jeremiah took the pipe from his lips and smiled sardonically, "A nice change after all the disrespect." "Sir, shall I show her up?" Eliza asked. "Yes, Eliza. I've been meaning to speak with her."  
  
When Eliza returned to the kitchen, Bethany stood up and smoothed the hair out of her face. "How was your trip to Dublin, Miss?" Eliza asked, wiping her hands on a towel and retying her apron. "Oh, productive," Bethany replied. "You know, your mother used to love going to Dublin when she was your age, darlin'," Eliza prattled, "That's where she met your father you know. Met him in a bookstore, she did. Told me he was the most handsome man to walk into a room." How many times had Bethany heard that story? She loved it, for sure, but it was a little old. She leaned on the counter until Eliza was ready to walk her to her brother's rooms. She hoped he was better today. The last time she had seen hide or hair of him had been a month ago, when his eyes were sunken and his skin was motley. Eliza nodded to her and waved, "Come along, Miss. Jeremiah wants to speak to you." The house was falling more and more into disrepair. The last time she had been here at least there had still been electricity in the more remote parts of the house. Now, only the library, the kitchen, the living quarters, the greenhouse, and her cottage were the only things lit by electricity. Bethany remembered when the house had been crawling with servants, retainers, and her brothers and sister. She wondered if, after dinner, she could go back and look at all the rooms she so dearly missed: the playroom where her siblings would sit and read or play, before that day at the Standing Stones. She had a fleeting notion that she would walk around the corner and see Aaron with a paint pallet and canvas under his arm, but then she remembered what she'd done to him, where he was and why. It almost pained her enough to release him, but chances were-that after eleven long months of starvation-he was probably dead, most likely dead. A pulling sensation in her chest made her clutch her heart, for she passed by the library and thought to look inside. She could almost see her father standing on the ladder, overlooking the bookshelves and fumbling through a number of tomes. But alas, he had been dead for the better part of four years. She wished she would see Lizbeth in the playroom with her books and stories. She loved to read, and she was so beautiful. Why did she have to die when she was only in her teens? And poor Jeremiah, her favorite sibling, most intelligent and respectful of all of them, was lying nearly bedridden, prone, dying of the same illness that killed their youngest sister. She decided to go back to the cottage and fix him a draught for his pounding head, and something to settle his stomach. She could perhaps provide something a little more pleasant for him than the last painful years the doctor had saved him. Maybe she could restore him to his feet as well. Eliza swung his door open on creaking hinges. It was dark-the sun had set-and the only light in the room came from the lighted fire in the sitting room, adjacent to his bedroom. Jeremiah was in the chair next to the fireplace, smoking his third pipe. He only smoked that much when he was agitated, and lately, Eliza had to take the bowl from him. His eyes were rheumy when he looked up at Bethany. She knew that he didn't have much time left. "Hello, brother. Are you doing better?" "It seems I've come under the watchful eye of The Reaper, my sister," Jeremiah replied. Bethany took the opposite chair and sat back, gazing at her older brother thoughtfully. Her red hair shimmered in the firelight. She smiled a little. "Tell me what has been going on this past month, Jeremiah. Surely something interesting has happened," she coaxed. "Aside from my searchings in our father's books, nothing has happened since Aaron's disappearance. How that must have bothered you, to lose your own twin brother. Small wonder you barricaded yourself up in that greenhouse," Jeremiah replied. "That's one of the reasons, brother. My loss of Aaron still grieves me, but I think you'll agree that he's in a better place, wherever he is," Bethany said. She twisted her hands together in her lap. Guilty and remorseful, she regretted chaining her twin to that table in the cellar, the darkest, deepest one in the whole manor, where not a soul would hear him. How had she been so consumed by anger and greed that she had allowed Keisinger to put such sadistic thoughts in her head? It nearly drove her mad, but not quite. She had her magic and projects to worry about now, and how to dispose of Keisinger. Jeremiah inclined his head and smiled, "That he is, Bethany." Eliza carried a tray to them, a bottle of Italian wine and two wine glasses. She poured them both a measure and left again. Jeremiah raised his glass. "To our family. Let us pray they are in a better place," he said. Bethany raised her glass and clinked his, "To the Covenant family." They drank deeply of the brand new wine. Bethany smacked her lips quietly and admired the red liquid. "This is the new wine?" she asked, "It is delicious, Jeremiah. I hate to ask the price." "It's a small present from some of our friends in London. I told them it was too expensive a gift to give to a dying family, but they insisted," Jeremiah explained. Bethany wondered exactly how it had been fermented, but she didn't inquire, lest her poor brother didn't know the answer, and Jeremiah hated pointless talk. An hour of conversation later, Eliza came to the door again and announced that dinner was prepared and would be served in the grand hall. Supported by Bethany and Eliza, Jeremiah went downstairs for the first time since Christmas. They placed him in the chair at the head of the table. A little voice jumped in Bethany's head. Why should he be at the head? She shook the thought away. Thoughts such as those were what drove her to kill her only twin. Those thoughts were for Otto Keisinger, not her. They ate a hearty fare, toasting their brothers and sisters, their father, their family name, their estate. It was a very lovely evening, and Bethany could tell that it made Jeremiah very happy. He was laying down in his bed under the care of his now doting sister when Eliza came in with a message round that Count Otto Keisinger wished to speak with her in the cottage. Jeremiah looked upset and wondered aloud if everything was all right at the cottage. Bethany merely nodded. "Of course, brother. Lord Keisinger probably has something do discuss about my training. It is nothing serious." Jeremiah looked dubious, but clasped his sister's hand and let her go. He turned to Eliza and asked for his pipe. "Jeremiah," the maid scolded, "You'll burn a hole straight through your chest. You'll not be havein' another puff tonight." The dying man sat back and folded his arms like a twelve year old.  
  
The darkness had set hours ago when Bethany climbed into her small trap. The clouds blocked out every star and the moonlight that might have lit her way. She lit the small lantern and whipped up, wanting to get back to her cottage quickly, even if it involved spending another night with Otto Keisinger. The cottage door was unlocked and all the windows were alight with the candles and lamps from within. Otto must have waited up for her. She glanced at her pocket watch in the lantern light and discovered that it was already after the witching hour. She quickly gave the horse and trap over to the one servant they had at the cottage and hurried inside. Time to face the music. She loathed taking admonishments from someone who wasn't even her family. She would rather have had Jeremiah scold her tonight, or even Eliza for that matter. She crossed the threshold and bolted the door behind her. Her master and current bed partner was reclining in a chair at their dinner/kitchen table, a bottle of Scotch in one hand and a shot glass in the other. "Thought you were never coming home," he said. Bethany screwed up her face and narrowed her eyes, "This entire estate is my home, my lord, and I have every right to go where I want, when I want." She could tell that he didn't like her condescension, and he rose slowly-menacingly-from his chair. She took an instinctive step back against the door. She hated herself for it. He walked slowly over to her and put a hand on her hair, jerked her head around and made her face the door. "I had a feeling that this was coming," he breathed into her ear, "I am fortunate that I caught your dissention in time." "What in God's name are you talking about?" she demanded, her cheek smashed up against the rough wood of the cottage door. "You know what I mean," Keisinger spat, "Don't play coy." "Get off of me, you fool." She tried to twist around, but Keisinger was too strong for her. Bethany wrenched her wrist, but the position he held it in was too hard to break. She feared breaking her arm more than she feared him. Keisinger's breath was foul. He had obviously not been drinking just Scotch. She glanced over at the sink. Bottles sat on the counter top, some of their contents spilled into the basin, some others stagnating in a bowl. Bethany recognized a strength potion, meant to enhance his already powerful muscles. What did he hope to accomplish in crushing her? She had nothing to offer him as far as information. She knew less than he did. What if he tried to get after Jeremiah? Keisinger let her hair go and reached into his pocket. He extracted a seventeen inch cord and spoke again. "I am well prepared, Bethany my love, to dispose of you, if you prove to be more of a betrayer than a help." "What do you want from me?" she sobbed. She wished again for Ambrose's godlike strength. He would always protect his brother and sisters. He was off on some pirate galleon, that little hellion. Keisinger tightened his grip and moved his body over hers. "Tell me, do you not desire to be the head of the family?" Once again that little voice that tugged at her sanity spoke again. Yes. Bethany strained against it, "No!" "Very well. So you don't wish your brother to be killed?" "Never!" "I see. Then why did you kill Aaron?" "Because you made me! You're like a virus, a disease. You infected my mind," she sobbed. She wrenched again, not caring that the muscles in her shoulder tore. She pulled herself free finally and planted one high healed riding boot in Keisinger's stomach. He reeled back and struck the table, knocking the breath out of his lungs. He recovered quickly, almost too quickly. Bethany had the worst part of two seconds to get out of the way. He flung himself at the door and slammed face first into it. He was too slow to catch her, lumbering after her. The drink didn't help his chances much either. He reeled forward and caught her around the arm. He hauled her over backwards, pinning her forward over the table. He whipped the cord around her throat and pulled backwards. Bethany gasped and choked. She threw her hands up to her neck to pull his hands away, but his own strength combined with the potion over powered hers. She tangled one hand in his hair and started jerking back, trying to hurt him, but in his drunken state, he felt no pain. The world was starting to cloud over as her brain was deprived of oxygen. At first her vision turned grey, then blue, then red, and as her body began to slump forward, she could hear Keisinger's voice. "You thought you could simply spurn me, but now I have destroyed you. You could never be as strong as I am. Now you have learned that my will shall prevail over everyone else's. Say goodbye to your big brother. Tonight was the last time you'll ever see him again.  
  
As Bethany's inert body slumped to the floor, something awoke in her mind, a small light came on, and Bethany found herself falling toward it. She welcomed it. The light smelled of forest mulch and flowers. It felt warm like the waning summer afternoon. She imagined that the sky was purple and that Aaron, Lizbeth, and Ambrose were there. She wanted to go to them.  
  
Keisinger sat back down at the table and smiled to himself. Having disposed of the annoying little witch, he could now focus his talents and his strength on preserving Nequeros, his world. There the sky was always purple, the clouds were yellow, the creatures were vile and of his own creation. Soon, he would bring Nequeros to the present, but right now, the lovely bottle of Scotch was waiting for him.  
  
The next morning was gray and breezy. Keisinger loaded Bethany's corpse in the small trap and road up the manor. He was relieved that he met no gardener or any lower servant along the way. He used the service stair on the side of the house by the kitchen. The only servant he came upon was that whimpering Eliza. She took a single look at Bethany and burst into tears. "You fool," Keisinger told the sobbing woman, "Make way. I'm trying to get to Jeremiah." He hoped he looked upset enough. He had once sought to make Bethany his bride, but when he'd found out about her dissension, he decided the best course of action would be to kill her. He had made it look as if she had strangled on something other than a thick cord. He painted over her bruised skin and injected her blood with laudanum last night, to keep her body from rigor mortis. It looked like she died early that morning. No doctor would be able to trace the cause. Jeremiah was seated at his late father's desk, a magnifying glass in one hand and the other resting heavily on the desk beside an open tome. The door swung open and he looked up. Silhouetted against the morning gloom was Otto Keisinger and he carried something in his arms. Jeremiah squinted behind his thick glasses and waved for Keisinger to enter. The man's eyes were red (thanks to eye drops) and his mouth was turned down, very uncharacteristic of him. Jeremiah glanced from the man's face to the body he carried. Jeremiah's eyes widened and he dropped his eyeglass. Keisinger slowly came forward a little further and in the soft lamp light of the library; Jeremiah could see the calm face and pale features of his younger sister. Her eyes were closed and she was cold. Oh, Bethany, he thought. His eyes welled a little and he stood up. Despite his ailing body, he followed Keisinger over to the divan, where he set the dead woman down and stood back to let Jeremiah look at her more closely. The dying man sat beside his sister and smoothed the red hair out of her face. She was beautiful in death, and he could see traces of Lizbeth in her. The only difference was that Bethany was six years older than her little sister and her mouth was not as cruel, not so hard. He took Bethany's hand and entwined his fingers with hers. He sniffed a little and let his eyes flick over his shoulder. Keisinger was standing back respectfully out of his line of vision. He was impeccably dressed as ever. His red robes always matched. Jeremiah often wondered why the man wore robes, and he never bothered to ask Bethany. Now he would never get the chance. Hatred boiled in his weakening heart. Why should it be Keisinger to bring her body home? Why couldn't it have been Jeremiah himself, or one of his brothers, or even a servant? Jeremiah shook his head. His brothers were dead, and Keisinger only allowed one servant at the cottage. He turned to the distraught looking Count and sniffed again. "I apologize, my lord, but I'll have to ask you to leave us for a while. I will prepare the funeral myself." "Jeremiah, sir," Keisinger's voice was comforting, "I understand your bereavement, but you do not appear to be in any shape to prepare a body. Perhaps the coroner from the village can help you." "Thank you for your concern, Count. Perhaps I could use your help," Jeremiah said, rising slowly. He rang a bell for the butler and told him and Keisinger to take the buggy into the village and bring back the coroner. Jeremiah watched them go from the window in the library. He glanced at his sister and rang the bell again. A sobbing Eliza answered the call. "Yes sir." "Take the small trap out to the cottage," he ordered. His voice was tight and controlled, "Search Bethany's shelves. She keeps a book of prayers. Take Mary Margaret with you, and bring it back." "But, why not let Father O'Leary, sir? Bethany was baptized," Eliza balked. "She has not practiced our religion for ten years. It is what she would have wanted. And if I wanted your opinion, Eliza, I would have asked for it." Eliza curtsied quickly and made her way back down to the kitchen. She and Mary Margaret boarded the small trap and rode straight for the cottage.  
  
Jeremiah looked at the book in his hand and blinked. He'd never felt so strange. This book held all the teachings that Bethany had been aspiring to for the last ten years. He opened it, searching for a prayer over the dead. He read over a few of them, trying to find one that didn't involve an offering of food or blood. He felt unsure of himself and of his own soul. Praying over Bethany like this would not send her to a Christian afterlife. Without a Christian burial, her soul was doomed, not to Hell, but to wander the earth, and he hated to give her over to that fate. But he remembered that she was not a Christian anymore and God could very easily doom her soul at any rate. He shook his head, not wanting to think of that. Father O'Leary had always commended them on being such good Catholic children, and now Bethany was being given a pagan ceremony to welcome her to the afterlife. He took a deep breath and began the prayer.  
  
"'Magic of Samhain dreams  
Spritits of mystical north,  
O' guardian of earth, heed my prayers  
Throughout this rite, come forth.  
As the stars crown your brow,  
This song of sorrow ye hear,  
Open the gates that our loved ones may pass  
And our words draw them near.'"  
  
The light seemed to ripple. Bethany was unaware of any sense of body or solid feeling. She floated silently. The world of purple and yellow fell away. The pleasant visions of her brothers and sister faded from her mind. She suddenly felt the pull of ascension. She didn't want to leave. She didn't want to go back, but the prayer continued.  
  
"'Magic of Samhain dreams,  
  
Spirits of mystical east,  
  
O' guardian of air, heed our prayers  
  
At behest of wiccan priest.  
  
As on wings of warding ye soar  
  
This song of sorrow ye hear,  
  
Open the gates that our loved ones may pass  
  
And our words draw them near.'"  
  
Bethany felt it, then. Pain...absolute pain. She'd never felt it before. Not even the strangulation had hurt so much. It was the pain of all the deaths of thousands of pagans before her. Thoughts flashed before her eyes of blood and death. She saw the remains of poor Aaron after she let Keisinger's greed over take her mind. She remembered the first thing that Keisinger had taught her, and that he seemed to forget so casually when it came time to kill him. "Whatever evil you commit in life, will come back to you three fold in the next." She felt fear, terrible fear. Aaron had been starved to death, chained to a table, and the rats had eaten his flesh off his bones and maggots ravaged his brain. She couldn't imagine that happening to her own body. She feared her afterlife more than she feared the pain. The chanting continued.  
  
"'Magic of Samhain dreams,  
  
Spirits of mystical south,  
  
O' guardian of flame, heed our prayers  
  
And spare us lengths of drouth.  
  
As your touch warms our souls  
  
This song of sorrow ye hear,  
  
Open the gates that our loved ones may pass  
  
And our words draw them near.'"  
  
Jeremiah felt the fool, and surely felt like an infidel, but he kept on chanting, feeling for the first time the way he'd felt all those years ago on the Island of the Standing stones, that power that had run through his body and changed the course of his family's lives.  
  
"'Magic of Samhain dreams,  
  
Spirits of mystical west,  
  
O' guardian of water, heed our prayers  
  
And deem we sisters blessed.  
  
As your rushing rivers flow  
  
This song of wicca ye hear  
  
Open the gates that our loved ones may pass  
  
And our words draw them near.'"  
  
Bethany once again felt the strength of blood in her veins, the feeling of life in her body. Only she was not in her body. She felt the thoughts and the ambitions of the living, but she was not altogether within herself. She was floating over the trees, the forest floors of the Estate. She suddenly felt the pull, the psionic message that told her that this was to be her home for the rest of eternity. She was a little chagrined, for she wondered where her Christian body would be interred. A pang of guilt struck her numb heart and awoke it. She would never have a Christian burial. The words that brought her here had seen to that. Her soul would not rest, none of theirs would. She could see Aaron in her head, his soul wandering. Not even Lizbeth slept. She recognized her brother and sister, but they weren't Lizbeth and Aaron anymore. They were monsters. Lizbeth's dress was torn and stained red from the blood of many innocents. Aaron had no skin, his organs were rotting and maggot filled. His hair remained, fiery red like hers, a reminder of the one she had slain. The rats had gnawed all the skin off and some of the flesh before he rose from his stone bed and settled himself in the wine cellar. She couldn't find Lizbeth, and she wasn't so sure she wanted to. Ambrose was not to be seen, and she was sure that were ever her little brother was, he was not dead, but consumed enough by his own traitorous and deranged traits as to be as good as dead. But where was Jeremiah?  
  
As he stood over her body, Jeremiah felt heavy, as if his shoulders were made of lead and his hands were heavy irons at his sides. The book of prayers weighed a ton. He set it down and then placed himself next to his younger sister. He remarked to himself again on how peaceful she looked. Very peaceful. In his bereavement, he had not bothered to ask how Bethany had passed. He would wait for the coroner to decide it.  
  
Bethany was now quite sure this wasn't what she wanted. She didn't want to be in this undying place, without any comfort from on high. There was no light to turn her face to, no fresh air to breath, or fresh scents to inhale. There was only the stale air, the rotting leaves underfoot, the darkness. There was only the forest, only the leaves, only the tall trees. There were no ponds of clear water, only the stagnant pool of fetid filth. She was now standing, well on her feet, but she felt odd. A pool sat to her left. She lumbered over to it and glanced at it. Her shrieks filled the forests, but nothing stirred. Not a breath of air moved and not a bird fluttered away, its heart humming in fear. When her chest stopped heaving and her eyes were not so wide, she glanced into the pool again and met her own eyes. Her hair was longer, all the way down to her feet. She stood a towering eight feet tall. Not as tall by far as any of the trees, but she was definitely taller than the roofs in the manor. Her face was grey, lined, and her forehead was much larger. She was a monster, a lumbering monster. When her emotions raged inside her mind, the pool evaporated and the ground around it shriveled. She tilted her head and wondered how. She looked at a tree and withered it before her eyes with her hatred and rage. She looked at her hands and the rest of herself. The prayer and her death had turned her into something horrible. Her body was back on Jeremiah's couch, but her spirit had manifested itself here. She was the Earth Witch, and she had Otto Keisinger to thank for it. She shook off her anger and lumbered away down the isles of trees and vines. She had to see what her boundaries were. She sidled down to where the bluffs met the forest and then dropped into the sea, close to Ambrose's cove. She took one more saunter forward and bumped into an invisible wall. Her boundaries were the very extremities of her wood. She was close to putting her face in her hands in despair. She didn't want to reside in this form for eternity. She didn't want to rest in this place of stale earth and water. It was no place to govern or warp for her own agenda. It never was. This place was dead, just like her and she loathed it. A noise off to her left alerted her. She moved down the edge of the woods until she came to the northern most boundary of her domain. Ahead of her, she saw the man who had condemned her to this place. He, the butler, and the coroner were riding in the buggy back to her home. They would never see that she had been strangled. They would only see a woman who died from her own machinations. She made a silent oath to herself, that if she ever got the chance to put her monstrous hands around Keisinger's throat, she would squeeze the head from his body and crush it between her fingers.  
  
Jeremiah had her body interred in the family mausoleum, but he had the feeling that there she would never rest. From the moment he had read the prayer, he felt that something was amiss. Something made Bethany's burial seem like a joke, as if Bethany didn't really take is seriously even though she was dead and had nothing left to lose. There was no funeral. The family came to watch her body go into the mausoleum, but no neighbors or other family came. Jeremiah shook his head as he walked slowly away from the crypt. He felt like someone was watching him, but he shook it off. No one was left. He was the last Covenant left. His brothers and sisters had left him on earth to suffer for the sin that he had wrought upon them all, the curse that he had brought down on their heads. They punished him by poisoning his body and cooling his blood, pooling it in his brain, making his movements slow, his heart pumping weak, stagnant blood. The thought sickened him. He wished Bethany had not left him here, in that big house. Keisinger followed him back to the house. Jeremiah had half a mind to tell him to pack his things and return to his own manor, never to return to the Covenant Estate on the threat that he would be arrested. He had every reason to think that he had killed Bethany, but alas, he had no proof and he was too weak to go out to the cottage behind Keisinger's back and search for it. So he allowed Keisinger to follow him all the way back to the library, then he refused to be spoken to and ordered Keisinger back to the cottage. Later he wondered if that wasn't a mistake.  
  
Bethany was faced with her eternity ahead of her. She wondered how other entities spent their eternities. She wanted to call out to her dead sister, Lizbeth and ask her what she had been doing the last thirteen years, but even though she could sense her sister in the magic ether, she could not focus on her. Her assumption was that Lizbeth was beyond reach, stuck in a feral state, an animalistic being that could only see, smell, and taste flesh. She sensed Aaron's presence in the cellar. Some times she thought she sensed him in the woods, in the cove and in various parts of the house, but she knew that while he haunted the whole place in the guise of his former self, his demented and vengeful mind was wandering about the cellars, and Bethany was afraid to contact him. She sat in her haven. The woods had always called to her, back when she was still breathing and had a place to go home to when she was done with the whole place. She used to spend days in the forest, but she never wanted to move out of a house and into the woods. As she sat with her back against a tree, she reflected on many things. It occurred to her that undead things only had their memories to dwell on. She wondered about her siblings, and remembered them.  
  
Dublin Finishing School 1890  
  
Three Covenants strolled into the room and took their seats in relatively the same area. The children around them made the attempt to snicker behind their hands and keep it to themselves. Bethany glanced up from the little journal on her desk that she had been keeping. She pulled a loose strand of hair out of her face and behind her ear. The rest of it was pulled back into a long childish pony tail at the base of her skull. Her round face glanced up and her eyes flicked to Jeremiah, who sat beside her in the next row. His short cropped brown hair was swept back with a little ambergris to keep it out of his face. Their father would not have allowed for any more than his bangs, even though Joseph kept his whole head greased. He was not older than nine, making Bethany and her twin brother, Aaron-sitting in front of her, hair all afire and green coat-at least eight years old. Bethany leaned close to his ear. "That's Jane from last year, Aaron," she said. "So what?" the boy asked. "She's talking about me." Aaron turned around and glanced at Jane, then at Bethany. Jane was commenting on Bethany's choice of hairstyle. Aaron regarded Bethany's hair. There was nothing wrong with it. It was not her fault it didn't look its best. In fact, Bethany had done her own hair this morning. Eliza had been very busy with Lizbeth, the new baby. Even little Ambrose looked more disheveled, but at least his lonely daylight hours were being spent in the playroom at home. Jeremiah and Aaron's hair had been done by their father, but Bethany was left to herself mainly. No maid seemed to have any time for her, especially when Eliza brought Lizbeth-sparkling from a bath-into the playroom and set her down in the crib. All of the maids flocked to her and would not respond to Bethany stamping her foot in front of the vanity. Aaron tilted his head and smiled. "I think your hair looks fine. Pretty good for someone who did it herself," he said, his blue eyes sincere. "Really?" she asked. She fingered her long red curls. "Of course. Ask Jeremiah if you don't believe me," Aaron said, gesturing to his older brother. Jeremiah shrugged, "Sure, why not?" Bethany looked upset, "You're just saying that because you're my brothers." Jeremiah smiled innocently, "Nonsense, sister. If we were going to be mean, we could say you looked like a witch, but no. You look fine." It seemed to appease her, and Bethany bent back over her journal. She reread what she wrote.  
  
Dear journal,  
Why do I bother with school? I'm not learning anything here. I  
wish to be back home again. No, wait, no I don't. I don't want to  
be back home with Lizbeth and Ambrose. Ambrose is so mean. He's  
like the little devil child I hoped we'd never have. He breaks  
things on purpose just to see what Father will say, or how mad one  
of us will get. Its like he enjoys pushing us to the extreme.  
And what can I say about Lizbeth? She's beautiful. She's  
everything Mother wanted her to be. She even has her eyes, those  
gray eyes that Father doesn't like to look into. Her eyes are  
innocent, and everything she does is precious to the maids, who  
fight over her. She'll be a favorite at school once she gets old  
enough. I dread that day.  
Those girls are snickering again. I hate them. Father and Eliza  
say we should never hate anyone, but I do hate those girls with  
their London styles and British airs, like they're better than us  
just because we have Irish blood. Their brood is foul, corrupt,  
silent. At least my family knows each other. At least my father is  
present at dinner six days out of seven. Sometimes he gets very  
busy, but at least he's in the house, and I can watch him go  
through his books again and again, listen to him ask questions that  
I can't answer, and then come over to me and hug me.  
"Never fear, Bethany, one day, this whole mess will be out of my  
hands," he said once.  
"Really?" I asked.  
"Yes, then it will all be Jeremiah's and he'll have to sit here  
all the time and sift through these old tomes."  
Father always talks condescendingly about his books, but anyone  
with eyes knows that he's very attached to them, almost as if he  
were bound to them like the pages to the spine. He shall never be  
done with his books, and I still miss him.  
  
The teacher returned and hushed the class. He bade them open their textbook to the second act of Macbeth. Jeremiah loved Macbeth. Bethany glanced over at him, and he stared up at the board as the teacher charted out the plot so far. They'd just reached the cave of the witches and she read aloud, sometimes picking on Jeremiah to read for her. He spoke just as plainly as any British boy, with no slang or sailor talk despite the fact that all the maids at home spoke that way, but the little boy across the room listened with a sneer on his face as if Jeremiah and his siblings were nothing but ferradin wretches from the gutter. Bethany could see him out of the corner of her eye. She wanted to make Aaron throw something at him, but she remained quiet. The instructor started to lecture about the three witches and translate Shakespeare's description of them. He kept referring to them as a coven. Bethany knew that Draco over in the corner, the little British heathen, was about to say something. Sure enough, he raised his hand, "Sir, is a coven of witches anything like a Covenant?" The class burst out laughing at them. The girls in the front row, close to the teacher, started the obvious snickering. Aaron turned red all the way up to his hair. Bethany could see, for he was turned around in his desk, his pale, round face redder than a ripe tomato. She glanced at Jeremiah, who only flicked his eyes in Draco's direction, but other than that, kept his head down. Bethany wanted to snap her pencil in two. "Draco, that's quite enough," the teacher coaxed. The class fell silent again, but Bethany could hear their whispers all day long.  
  
Dublin Finishing School 1804  
  
Another school year began for the four Covenants who now attended. Ambrose had started in 1803 and Lizbeth was due to start next year. Ambrose, now six years old, knew exactly how to terrorize the other students, especially if they happened to be picking on one of his siblings. He took it upon himself to defend the Covenant family honor- at least that's what he told Jeremiah, and eventually Joseph. Bethany started to see a trend in Ambrose's madness. He would beat up a boy in the most horrible ways. He once pushed a boys nose up into his skull and the boy nearly died. Ambrose was almost expelled for that, and when he explained to Joseph and the Head-master what happened, Ambrose only shrugged. "I was only defending my sister's honor."  
  
Bethany shook her head. How could she believe that? She'd seen the look in his eyes, the madness that craved pain. He took great pleasure in causing others pain. He was one of the sweeter looking Covenant children, but his sugarcoated projection was far from truth.  
  
Bethany remembered the first day he started. He was nervous about starting school, which only served to make him aggravated. Aggravated was never far from dangerous when it came to Ambrose. He sat just to Aaron's left and Jeremiah's right in the same row, so that the two older boys could at least give a measure of intimidation. Being the eldest, Jeremiah had most of the control over him. Ambrose normally would stop any attempt at murder when Jeremiah came round. He sat squirming in his chair, sweat on his brow, his fingers clutching the desk. That little heathen, Draco, was back again. He eyed Ambrose with an air of superiority and came over to the boy. Ambrose looked up from his paper that he had been studying and glared at him.  
  
"Can I help you?" he asked coolly, not in keeping with his six years. "So you're the new Covenant," Draco said without preamble. "So what?" Ambrose asked. "You leave him alone, Draco, or you'll get what's coming to you," Aaron said. He smiled, shoing a straight row of white teeth. "Aaron, don't encourage it," Jeremiah said, leaning over his desk to whisper in his brother's ear. "Draco deserves every bit of it," Bethany hissed. Jeremiah closed his eyes and put his head down on his desk. "Deserves what, Covenant?" Draco asked. He turned his hateful glare on Bethany. Ambrose tensed. He bickered and fought with them as much as any little brother, but woe to those who messed with another Covenant when Ambrose was passing. Bethany recalled just how extreme that oath could be at school and in cove. Any threat to the family was put down before it got anywhere. "The beating of your life," Bethany retorted. She'd had enough of Draco after only three years with him. Jeremiah had had to put up with him all of his school days. Enough was enough. "By who? Your little ferradin brother, Aaron? Gonna get your big brother to fight your fight?" He shot a cold glance at Jeremiah, who looked ready to spring from his desk and clobber the little Brit himself. Bethany would recall after the incident just how mean the others had gotten. In just a short year, the older Covenants had developed a mean streak ten miles long. Ambrose would kill small animals just to watch them die. Jeremiah would often sit back while his little brother pulled the heads off of rats with his bare hands. Jeremiah only intervened when people where concerned, but only so far. If it was towards his defense, Jeremiah let his little brother go. Aaron was most often drawn into himself and had developed a sense of the arts, a fairly good one-mildly deranged, but good. Even Lizbeth was mean. She developed a nasty habit of biting just after the incident at the Standing Stones, that none of the Covenants would speak of. "Or how about this one?" Draco asked. Ambrose leered at him out of the corner of his eye. The teacher had just walked in and placed his things on the desk. He hadn't noticed the quarrel yet, and Bethany hissed her reply. "He's the one you've got to watch out for." Draco's eyes flashed and he reached for Bethany's hair. He grabbed handful of fiery locks and pulled hard, "Don't you dare, threaten me, you little bastards. My father says your dad's so crazy that his entire house is like a giant loony bin. Heard you're little sister's bewitched and killed your mamma. So don't you dare-" He never got any farther. Ambrose leapt up on to his desk and grabbed the older boy's hair. He entwined his fingers in it and then slammed his head down on his finely lacquered school desk. The noise caused the teacher to look up in alarm and come running, but Ambrose wasn't finished. Draco's head rebounded, but Ambrose's hands were still in his hair, and the little boy of no more than six years put the older one on his knees, eye level with Ambrose. The second youngest Covenant brought his knee up to meet Draco's nose in one quick flash. Blood spurted and the boy screamed. Jeremiah saw the instructor walking over to him and grabbed his little brother's arm. Ambrose relented in the face of his new teacher and pulled his hands back, but not without taking a few strands of black British hair with them. Jeremiah pulled the boy behind him in a defensive stance. Bethany and Aaron both got out of their chairs. At the look in their eyes, the instructor took a step back. There was something there, something in their eyes that wasn't them. He'd known Jeremiah for six years and he'd never seen the boy like this. How old was he now, twelve, thirteen? What had happened over the summer to make the boy look so.empty? His eyes used to be full of life, full of happiness, but now they looked void, as if something had taken the life in him and smothered it like a candle. And Bethany and Aaron? What made their blue eyes sparkle with such a savage gleam? Their little brother he could barely see, for he was peeking around from behind his big brother, but his little boy face did not hide the brutatlity in his brown eyes. He had Jeremiah's eyes, only the instructor assumed that they had never even known a fraction of the happiness the older boy had. Bethany remembered her instructor's fear of them. He didn't want to even be near them after that. All the attention Jeremiah had gotten ceased, and Ambrose never got any. He was never cold to them, but he was never any friendlier with them again. They were different somehow, and Bethany, then only nine years old, could see that. "Jeremiah," the instructor said, "what is his name?" "Ambrose," the little boy replied, only the teacher found it very hard to consider him little in light of what he'd just done to a boy six years older than he. Ambrose pulled away from his brother and walked toward the instructor without fear of reprisals. He'd already lost the man's respect-which he'd hoped to have kept for at least a few more days-so he sidled up, titled his head back and smiled pleasantly. Draco was standing now, holding his busted nose and crying. Bethany knew that for as long as he lived, he would remember Ambrose Covenant and how he had humiliated him in front of his peers. She put her hands on her little brother's shoulders. "Please sir, he didn't know what he was doing. Ever since our little sister was born, Ambrose has always taken care of himself and sometimes us. He only thought to defend the family." "I'm sorry, Bethany, but the head-master must be told immediately," the instructor replied. "Ambrose, apologize," Aaron said. Ambrose looked appalled that his older brother should even mention that. He turned on him and with all the hatred of a thousand lonely days and nights and six years of little or no attention, he said: "Not in a thousand years." Bethany turned to Aaron, "Don't make it worse." She looked down at her little brother. He was looking at her with so much confusion that she almost wanted to cry herself. How had she never noticed that Ambrose always defended them, never the other way around? She was heartsick for him. Their classmates stared at them in confusion as well, and Draco, his eyes clear and sedated, glared at them in agony. Bethany shot them all a hard glance and returned her pleading eyes to her instructor. "Please don't make him talk to the head-master. He doesn't understand." Please, make it look like you don't understand, you little hellion, she thought. Ambrose was never sorry and was always completely aware of what he'd done. But at least the boy wasn't stupid, and he made his brown eyes big and round, and he made his lower lip quiver. The instructor took the bait, but Father wouldn't be fooled. They knew it, he and Bethany both. He motioned for Ambrose to follow him. He looked at the other three Covenants. "One of you may come with him." "I'll go with him," Bethany and Aaron said in unison. They glanced each other and sighed. Aaron motioned to Bethany. "You go. He likes you." He was of course referring to Ambrose, but the instructor was heartbroken nonetheless. He knew he would be uncomfortable around them for the rest of term, possibly for the rest of their school days. He followed the instructor like he followed Father, hands behind his back and guilty looking. Bethany took one of his hands. She knew that his façade looked guilty, but he wasn't. He was glad he'd bullied that boy, and Bethany could see under that that he was lonely, always playing by himself, always the butt of the attention from the maids and Father. He was just not very well liked. She squeezed his hand. Uncharacteristically, he squeezed it back. In the head master's office, Bethany sat next to Ambrose, no longer holding his hand, but just comforting to sit next to. Later Ambrose remarked that if anyone ever found out that his sister had had to walk him to the head master's office he'd never have a reputation. Bethany wondered how someone so young could conceive of a reputation, but she supposed he'd heard Aaron and herself talk about school and how oddly they were treated enough to know. The head master came in and sat down across from them at his desk. Ambrose sat up straight in his chair, his feet dangly, almost reaching the floor but not quite. Bethany looked at the carpet. "Children, I think you should know that Draco will be just fine, and although what the young one just did was unspeakable, Draco's family will not be pressing charges." Bethany looked up, "Oh.good, I think." "You think? Child, your little brother could have very easily killed him," the head master said incredulously. Bethany fidgeted, "Please don't speak about him as if he doesn't sit here with us." "Very well," the head master continued. He looked Ambrose straight in the eye. "Son, why did you hurt that boy?" "He threatened my sister. He pulled her hair. Where I come from, we get spanked for that," Ambrose replied. "So you think that you had the right to pass judgment, to punish Draco?" the head master asked. "No sir," Ambrose replied. Bethany had a feeling that her little brother's stomach just turned over with a squish. "Then why did you do it?" Ambrose looked at the floor. Bethany understood. Her younger brother always acted on impulse and when he tried to justify his actions, his responses could be quite awful to hear. He was trying to think of a reason that wouldn't frighten the head master. Bethany spoke for him, "He just reacted. He doesn't always know what he's doing, and when he does it, he really doesn't have a reason. He thinks I was in trouble, that's all." "And I didn't exactly see one of my brothers jumping in," Ambrose remarked, folding his arms, "Worthless." The head master was a little stunned. He had the boy's records sitting open in front of him. He was only six, yet he talked like someone three times his age. Bethany ignored her little brother's remark, "Please don't cable my father." "I'm afraid I'll have to, Miss Covenant," the head master replied. "But its his first day. Father will be so disappointed." "I'm sure he'll understand, if indeed the boy was only acting on impulse and unaware of the pain he would cause." Joseph would never believe that his son had only been acting in his sister's defense. Ever since the incident at the Standing Stones, Ambrose had grown more evil every day. Some days he was calm and quiet, and some days he would tear about the house, destroying things on purpose just because he could, and no one really stood in his way. Not with Lizbeth there to lavish attention on, who would want to worry over a little boy with an attitude problem. Bethany stared at him hard out of the corner of her eye. Ambrose glanced up. "Can I help you?"  
  
Dublin Finishing School 1904  
  
Bethany recalled her last years of school with the usual hatred. She'd always hated school, but she'd never imagined herself getting kicked out of school. She could recall as plain as day, walking down the hallway towards her teacher room from midday meal and seeing her little brother, Ambrose, now sixteen, lounging along the wall, waiting for something Bethany strolled over to him. "You'll be late if you stand there much longer." "As will you, sister. I'm only waiting for someone," Ambrose said, folding his arms. Bethany didn't like that, but it was none of her business. Aaron followed her shortly into the classroom. Jeremiah, now on his last year of school, soon followed him. Lizbeth came across Ambrose later, surrounded by all her of her friends and even a few teachers followed her. Ambrose had always had an affinity for Lizbeth, a sort of fraternal concept of respect, but over the years, she became more of a snob than any of her siblings could handle. She turned her nose up at Ambrose and sauntered right past him. He sneered at her as she passed him, feeling his stomach turn over at the smell of her strong lilac perfume.. At last, his point of interest came around the corner. Draco spotted him and tried to run, but Ambrose was quick. Bethany was already running to the door when he gave chase. Jeremiah followed her, but only served to grab her arm and pull her back. "Don't turn it against us," he said. Aaron came over to them and peered around Jeremiah. "What is he doing?" he asked. "I don't know, nor do I want to," Jeremiah said. Lizbeth called from inside the room. "What are you looking at, siblings?" Oh, she claims us, how surprising, Bethany mused. "Our brother is going to beat Draco within an inch of his life," Jeremiah explained, looking at his little sister over his shoulder. Lizbeth's face fell and she came to stand next to him. "Jeremiah, stop him," Bethany said. Draco's screams were coming from down the hallway. Jeremiah broke away from his siblings and ran to were Ambrose had Draco pinned against the wall, blood gushing down his face from his busted temple. He was crying again and pleading with Ambrose to let him go. The younger boy laughed manically. Jeremiah stopped and stood back, letting his little brother finish his carnage. He didn't notice Bethany come up beside him and put a hand over her stomach. Ambrose flung the older boy away from him and into a wall. He slid down the wall heavily. Ambrose reached him in two strides and picked him up again. Jeremiah reached a hand out, but was feebly unable to stop him. Ambrose had Draco by the shoulders and was shaking him. "If you ever.try to bully me again.I will beat you so horribly.you will never see the light of day.again!" the younger boy screamed into his face. His speech was halting, staggered, anger made his voice shake. He was not in control of himself, and Bethany could see it in his eyes. "Ambrose please!" she screamed, flinging her hands over her eyes. Ambrose was beyond reason. He pulled Draco's head back, bent his knee, and brought his head down to meet it. The most inhuman crunching noise was heard. Draco passed out and sank to the floor. Ambrose leaned against a wall and breathed deeply for a moment. Blood was on his hands and face, and he seemed to enjoy it. Bethany thought she was going to be sick. Ambrose looked at them and said nothing. The headmaster walked around the corner, beheld the boy on the floor, and the three Covenants standing around him, and fainted dead away. A squadron of instructors rounded the corner and took in the scene. Draco didn't move. He was unconscious. Bethany stuck close to Jeremiah and wished for her twin brother. Ambrose glared at all of them in contempt and spat on the floor. The Covenant's instructor crossed his arms and glared at the three of them. "I don't know what happened here, but you better all get down to the headmaster's office. When he comes to, he's going to want an explanation. The headmaster cabled their father immediately and instructed all five Covenants to pack their bags, they would not be returning to the Dublin Finishing school ever. Joseph Covenant sent the carriage the next day, and the children returned home before the semester was over. Lizbeth was in tears, for she never got to finish her schooling, and Jeremiah refused to ever talk to his brother again for ruining his last year. Bethany was more than a little relieved, and Aaron was just happy to be home with his paintings. Ambrose was placed under Joseph's personal guard for a week, but was otherwise not punished. Joseph had always supported Ambrose, but this time he'd gone too far. Living with his brothers and sister's hatred over the loss of their schooling was punishment enough. Bethany tried her hardest to make life easy for him, but he turned his hatred on her as well, and so she despised him too. That he couldn't take, and he could no longer stand there and let his brothers and sisters speak behind his back. He killed their father and ran away. Bethany remembered him like that, and she was sad that she had no fond memories of him.  
  
A sound alerted Bethany and brought her to her feet. It was the psionic call of something in need, something in pain. She moved in the direction of the call. She saw the pain as well as she felt it. It was a great green stain on her brain. The caller-when she saw it finally-was a defenseless sapling that was being hacked into by some stupid servant, possibly for firewood. The sight of the poor thing being destroyed angered the witch, and without a thought she grabbed the servant by his head and broke his bones in her fingers. With her other hand she healed the tree and stamped the broken body of the servant into the dust. It made her happy to shed blood, and she was shocked. As she lumbered away to find a new place to sit and think, she pondered her abilities. She had the power to wither and to heal. How many other powers did she posses? She focused her power on the ground, and the corpse of a squirrel greeted her. She focused on a tree, and it grew with her will. How many corpses could she call? What other things could she make grow or decay? She had all the powers of a God in her grasp, yet she could not leave the forest. She was a genuine earth witch now. She bowed her head, and tried not to smile, but she couldn't keep her lips from twitching upwards. What had Keisinger said? "You could never be as strong as I am. Now you have learned that my will shall prevail over everyone else's." Whose will shall prevail now, Otto? She thought. When I find you, you wretched excuse for a man, I will tear the head from your shoulders and crush it like a grape. Your corpse will join the legions that I will call to me, and with them, you will help me protect my brothers and sisters that dwell undead on this Estate. Anyone who poses a threat to us will perish. All those who seek to destroy this family will be destroyed himself. She began to laugh uncontrollably.  
  
As he sat in his study, Jeremiah considered the fate of his brothers and sisters. The only one who had been interred properly had been Lizbeth. Ambrose was gone, and if he was dead he wasn't buried on the Estate. Aaron had disappeared last year, and Bethany had been given a pagan release. He worried about them, and about the rumors he'd been overhearing from the servants. He'd heard that the gardener had seen Lizbeth around the mausoleum, and he'd heard from the butler that Aaron was haunting the cellar. His brothers and sisters were dead, but he didn't think they were really gone. He had much to think about. His night time was haunted with visions of his brothers and sisters, only they weren't the people they used to be. They were monsters and he feared them, feared the inevitable family reunion that was quickly approaching. An idea hatched in his head, but he didn't know whether to act upon it or let it drop. Yes, he thought, I have much to ponder over the next few months, and much that must be done, but my siblings are watching for me, and waiting. 


End file.
